


Lucky Sometimes

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Common Cold, Crying, Crying Dean, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e14 Long Distance Call, Fear, Going to Hell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Hell, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU-Coda to 3x14 LONG DISTANCE CALL. Pre-Hell angst, comfort ensues. Their lives suck, but it can also be crazy lucky, crazy beautiful sometimes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



> **_A/N:_** Written specifically for [this prompt](http://mad-server.livejournal.com/44195.html?thread=1068707#t1068707) at  **mad_server** 's [Again but with Colds: A Sneezy-SPN-Boys Comment Fic Meme](http://mad-server.livejournal.com/44195.html). The anonymous prompt went thusly: _Slash. Sam/Dean. Dopey Dean uses Sam as his own personal tissue._
> 
> As a note, this is my first-ever slash and foray into the rabbit-hole of Wincest. So it's definitely a huge step out of my comfort zone. Extra thanks to **mad_server** for the extra-loving beta. This fic assumes that Sam and Dean are kind of new at this whole together-together thing and just professed their love for each other / did it for the first time at the end of _3x08 A VERY SUPERNATURAL CHRISTMAS_. This particular fic takes place after the final scene in _3x14 LONG DISTANCE CALL_.
> 
>  _ **Disclaimer:**_ Do not own. Am not making a profit. Just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Kripke and Co. and all that Yada Yada.

"I don't wanna die, Sam," Dean whispers into the darkness between them, his voice wrecked. "I really, really don't wanna die." He's more than slightly drunk, words slurring together. The one beer had turned into two and then three… and then there was that whiskey run to get something heavier.

He sniffles, sounding like he's sucking muddy pond water through a drinking straw.

"I know, Dean," Sam breathes, rolling over onto his back, locking his hands behind his head, staring at the bars of light sweeping across the ceiling as a car drives by. The ache to hold and comfort his brother — lover — is almost unbearable.

Especially since they're staring at a countdown clock straight in the face. No longer ticking away months, but down to weeks and days and hours.

"I know you think I have a death wish..." Dean's still talking, all loose-tongued from the alcohol he's consumed.

"No. I don't," Sam interrupts him, voice gentle, soothing, without recrimination. "I know why you did it. Can't say I like it, but, yeah, I get why you did it. I'd've done the same."

There's another deep sniffle, and a sound like Dean's blowing his nose into his pillow. A sneeze explodes out of him. "Fuck."

"Dean?"

There's a series of sneezes, raw and deep-chested, and a sound bordering on a hitching sob as he sees Dean's darker form against the streetlight-backlit window sink deeper into the mattress.

"Dean?"

"Hurts." The single word cuts deep into Sam. He knows Dean's talking of his emotional and mental state, to say nothing of how he must feel physically after running on pure caffeine and fumes for over forty-eight hours.

Dean coughs, his breath catching, and Sam knows Dean's trying not to fall apart, to hold it together, still obeying Dad's command of _suck it up_.

 _But sucking it up doesn't mean you have to do it alone_. Sam swings his legs off the bed, pushing the covers aside. He doesn't turn on the light, doesn't make any noise as he walks silently across the tiny motel room to the bathroom and stands in the blue darkness, filling a glass tumbler with water. His eyes light on the first aid kit that's sitting on top of the toilet from when Dean used it earlier that evening. The whole fuckery with the Crocotta feels like an eon ago. As he turns off the tap, he contemplates digging for cold medicine, but immediately decides against it, knowing any interaction between drugs and booze is the last thing Dean needs at the moment.

Sam pads past his bed, closing the gap between them, and sits on the edge of Dean's bed, holding the water. Sam can feel condensation already forming on the outside of the glass, slippery and cold against his palm. Dean's back is turned towards him, tense and locked up on itself and Sam can tell he's still trying not to cry, snuffling into his pillow.

"Hey." Sam reaches out with his free hand, closes it around Dean's shoulder. "You okay, dude?" He winces at the colloquial term.

He sees Dean raise the corner of the sheet and blow his nose noisily into it before raising his head and twisting around. He looks wrecked, pale, shadowed, drawn. A slug-trail of a tear still shining on one cheekbone, disappearing somewhere around his chin. Even though Sam can't tell for sure in the shadowy light, he knows Dean's eyes are deep green, bright with tears.

"C'mon, sit up..." Sam tells him tenderly, his tone brooking no argument.

Dean obeys, moving slowly and sluggishly, shoulders slumped, huddled on himself. Sam slides in closer, pressing the beverage into Dean's hands. Dean curls long, thin, pianist fingers around the glass and raises it to his lips, clutching it with both hands like a small child.

When it's drained, Dean extends the empty tumbler, at a loss what to do with it. Sam wordlessly takes it from him, setting it on the bedside table. It's then Sam notices Dean's trembling, almost shivering. Without a word, Sam shifts around on the bed so he's partially between Dean and the headboard, and takes Dean into his arms.

Instantly, Dean becomes a marsupial, wrapping his arms around Sam's abdomen, his hands inadvertently rucking up Sam's shirt as he curls closer, burying his face into Sam's sternum, releasing a sound that reminds Sam of a coffee percolator.

"Imizzdad." Dean's breath is hot against Sam's chest as his breath hitches again. "I miss him so much." And Sam feels a warm wetness soak into his white undershirt.

"Oh, Dean." Sam curls around him, cradling him even tighter, rocking in counterpoint to Dean's sniffling, pressing his lips to short, spiky light-brown hair. Up-close, even in the darkness, Sam can see sunlight-gold strands. There's already some gray ones too, scattered randomly, but he'll never tell Dean of them. This is Dean — at once old before his years, and, yet, improbably, still a lost child at heart. "I miss Dad too..."

Dean's breath hitches and he lifts a corner of Sam's shirt, burying his face into it as he sneezes again. When the sneezes stop, he blows into it for a good minute. He blinks at the snot staining the shirt and lets it drop, snuggling his nose into Sam's right armpit. "Our lives suck."

"Yeah, they do," Sam agrees, still holding him, right hand stroking Dean's biceps, left hand cradling the back of his head. He dips his face towards Dean, plants a kiss on his sweat-damp forehead. "But we also get crazy lucky sometimes."

Dean nods, raising his head, blinking exhaustedly, and wipes his nose on Sam's collar before dipping his head to rest on Sam's pectoral with a mumbled word that might or might not have been _ew_.

"It's gonna be all right," Sam tells him, fingers toying with the fine, soft strands at Dean's nape. "You've got me and I'm gonna help you break your deal." Sam eases Dean onto the mattress, stretching out beside him, lying on the same pillow, forehead to forehead. "Jus' sleep. I gotcha."

In reply, he feels Dean wipe his nose on his shirtsleeve, and suddenly has to loosen his grip, backing up slightly as Dean worms around into the little-spoon position. Dean settles and Sam moves in again, pulling Dean into his lap, cocooning him.

"Lucky sometimes," Dean mumbles sleepily, tucking his chin to his chest, hands coming up to clutch at Sam's forearms.


End file.
